Never Let Go
by Utsukushii Kohana
Summary: Dick Grayson can't remember how he got to the beach. He can't even remember why. But he doesn't need answers.


**Never Let Go**

* * *

Dick Grayson can't remember how he got to the beach. He can't even remember why. But he doesn't need answers. Oneshot.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Young Justice.

* * *

Dick Grayson can't remember how he got to the beach. He can't even remember why. But he doesn't need answers.

He digs his toes deeper into the wet sand, clenching them as he felt the waves crash against the shores, against his goose-bumped skin, and he shudders, though is unsure why. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, the thought of being surrounded by water is comforting, some strange kind of courage.

Perhaps it's because the feel of being drenched reminds him of _her_.

Suddenly long, nimble fingers wrap themselves around his upper arm, giving a tiny squeeze. The touch warms his skin through the fabric.

"I'm worried about you, standing here alone in the dark," she says softly.

He can feel a small, wry smile appearing on his lips, while his hand reaches to cover hers and bring it down, his thumb stroking it affectionately.

"You shouldn't worry about me," he points out, his smile having been replaced with sadness clear in his eyes. "I'm the one who's worried about you. I shouldn't have asked you to do this."

She shakes her head ever so slightly, a hint of amusement tugging at her lips. As she continues to gaze at the entrancing push and pull of the waves, she simply replies, "I could have said no." He looks at her, almost pleadingly, but even before he could have interjected with any words, she proceeds, "You _asked_ me," she emphasises clearly on the verb ask and then deigns to look him in the eyes-the bluest of eyes. "It was only logical that you did. And to reiterate, I said yes to it. I'm capable of deciding what I will or won't do."

He doesn't even try to argue with her anymore. Even though he still feels guilty, and no matter what she says will make him feel differently, she has that resolute determination in her voice and he knows better than to test her.

So instead he opts to put his arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to him, letting her nestle her head against his collarbone (he loved how her soft hair felt against the exposed skin that connects his neck to his shoulder). Soothingly, he strokes her shoulder with his thumb. They both relish in the comfort of each other, of their friendship, of the familiarity of one's embrace, as they watch the blue moon connect with the sparkling starlit ocean.

He has missed this; missed _her_. He never wants to let go again.

_But he already had._

* * *

He wakes up in his bed, startled, and utterly wet from sweat. His hand goes up to rub his weary eyes, to un-blurry his vision and slowly his gaze wanders around to register his surroundings. It takes him some time to realise he's in his room, and that the beach scenery was only a dream sequence.

Distant shouting, passing cars and all the other noises of the world waking up filters through his half-open window together with the bright light of the sun very harshly, especially compared to the serene moonlight moment he was having with her.

He stirs and sighs, but eventually settles (with a disgruntled moan) to get up and shut his window. But when he gets there, he views the people on the streets below with a smile. When a little blond girl walking next to her dad, gesturing whatever she's telling him with vividly and happily, catches his attention, he notices that she's wearing a Green Arrow shirt.

The smile disappears and he immediately closes the window, turning his back on the outside world.

Everything stops moving, and silence descends, while he struggles to breathe.

* * *

He debriefs the team of a new mission, dividing them into squads and emphasising that it's covert (the League really doesn't need to cover up another explosion), but really he has no idea what he's telling them. His mouth seems to be operating on its own, saying what needs to be said, while his mind keeps drifting back to his dream.

His speech is finished with a nod, dismissing them to go execute the plan. After everyone has left, Mal ambles over to turn off the holograms of all the maps and pictures and details of the mission, glancing worriedly to Dick as the leader slinks back in a chair to regain his energy. Dick's breath is ragged and shallow, his head is spinning, feeling very nauseated and he can't comprehend why he can't calm down.

"Is everything alright?" Mal asks, concern ascertainable in his tone of voice.

"Uh, yeah, everythi—," he starts, but his throat feels like sandpaper, so very dry and rough, and he notices Mal's frown, so he quickly pulls him together. "Yes, of course everything is fine. Why wouldn't it be?"

Mal's frown deepens. "I know you're already pale, but dude, you look paler than ever." Dick's expression deadens, however Mal continues, "Not to mention you were very absent during the debriefing. You're normally very focused, but it's like a _ghost_ is hanging over you."

Nightwing's tendons and muscles tighten at the word "ghost".

He flashbacks to the moment when Artemis almost collapses to the ground, him quickly catching her fragile body and carefully lies her down. He is very well aware that it was all a ruse, that none of it was real, but all he can see is how her eyes were closed, her lips chapped and her skin so pale.

Kaldur had killed Artemis to give birth to Tigress, and it was all on him.

"There's no ghost," he responds, the words flowing out of him automatically, and once more he's relieved he's wearing a domino mask, because he's certain his eyes would have revealed the truth.

* * *

He's been so restless since Cape Canaveral. Artemis's undercover is plaguing him, and he's been wrestling his guilt, because he hates—really hates—that he doesn't know how she's adjusting to her new identity, how she's holding up. With Kaldur he's more assured because he's been posing as a Light's soldier for months now, but Artemis has only been doing it for ten days.

He tries to not let it bother him. Key word "tries", because while he may be able to fool everyone else, he can't fool himself.

So it's only when she's straddling him as Tigress, putting an inhibitor collar on him, that he can smile again.

* * *

That night she visits him in his dream once more.

He's standing behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist—never wants to let of her again—and his chin is resting on her shoulder, while she's leaning into the embrace, her fingers curled around his elbows.

They both find comfort in each other, and in the water lapping at their ankles, watching how the dark makes way for the dawn.

By the time the sun has risen, all his thoughts has been washed away, all but one. It is just him and her, and he doesn't need anything else.


End file.
